


One of The Best Players

by orphan_account



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Hate Sex, Hero Worship, Love/Hate, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Wimbledon 2019, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 19:05:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19836610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "What do you want me to say?" he tries to sound accusatory.I want to hear you say I'm the best, that I'm your superior in every way, but it's enough to know you believe it, Roger thinks. Novak's still looking at the ground, his hands, anywhere but him, and Roger uses this moment to really look him over. Just out of a shower, his hair is still damp, his shorts sticking to the dark, glistening skin of his strong legs."I have everything I want. What do you want?"





	One of The Best Players

"That was nice of you."

Novak startles in his seat, reacting embarrassingly at the sudden presence of another person in the room. Roger.

"What?"

"What you said out there. That you respected me."

Roger keeps his tone casual and honest-sounding, but he suspects the younger man has known him for too long now not to be weary. However, the older player is also very well aware of another, much more important fact. That Novak, whether he likes it or not, still sees Federer as - excuse his immodesty - a god, more or less. It doesn't even matter how many matches he loses against Djoković - in fact, he's quite certain that every time the younger man's won so far, he never truly felt like he deserved to win. And he definitely, most certainly does not feel that way tonight, either. The look he's giving him right now leaves no doubt about that.

"Oh. Yeah, of course, Roger. It was... it was one hell of a game," he returns, carefully. Like he's done something wrong already.

"So who's the best player of all time?" Roger asks, then smiles, barely, and Novak's eyes scan over his face as he attempts to confirm his suspicion that Roger is lying. It's not that Roger is actually giving off that vibe, Novak's just always so quick to jump to conclusions, that balkan temperament betraying him. " _You need to learn to control yourself,_ " he had told him once. " _You can't act like a wild animal._ "

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"It's _supposed_ to mean that you said I was _one of_ the greatest players of all time. So, who's _the_ best?" Roger explains, pronouncing the words clearly and slowly as if speaking to a child. He watches with a slight smile as the Serb attempts to control his reaction - angry, but embarrassed, more deeply wounded by Roger Federer mocking him than he's probably even aware of. _Whatever_ , Roger thinks in response to a small pang of guilt he felt for a moment. _If he can't manage to feel confident in himself, then maybe there just isn't that much there to be confident about._

"Well, I don't know. I did just win the title," he says with forced confidence. Not so easy to hide the insecurity under Federer's gaze.

"You did! I guess you're the best player of all time, huh? What an honour for me, Mr. Djoković." He is now very openly mocking him, yet Novak doesn't seem to get angrier, just... sadder, as he avoids eye contact.

"What do you want me to say?" he tries to sound accusatory.

 _I want to hear you say I'm the best, that I'm your superior in every way, but it's enough to know you believe it,_ Roger thinks. Novak's still looking at the ground, his hands, anywhere but him, and Roger uses this moment to really look him over. Just out of a shower, his hair is still damp, his shorts sticking to his dark, glistening skin of his strong legs.

"I have everything I want. What do _you_ want?"

Novak looks up at him then, but Roger doesn't give him the time to formulate a response. He takes a few slow but deliberate steps forward until Novak's craning his neck to look up at him and Roger positions his leg so that his knee is lightly touching the inside of his thigh. Novak jumps at the contact, instinctively pressing his legs together to feel less vulnerable and exposed, making Roger's knee press harder into and slide even further up his thigh. A very quiet, but very obvious sound escapes him, and Novak looks absolutely horrified as soon as he registers it. Roger just barely stops himself from grinning. He knew it.

He wets his lips, bending down slightly to speak closer to the Serb's ear. "Do you want me to tell you you're _good_ , Novak? That I'm proud of you?"

 _This could go either way_ , Roger thinks as he watches him from above. But the way he's reacting really leaves little doubt.

"You know that's not going to happen on the court," he says then, like it's something he has no control over. "But I can think of other ways I might be able to say it and mean it."

At that, he takes Novak's chin between his two fingers and lifts it up. He feels a dizzying rush at the man allowing him to do this - to treat him this way. His cock twitches. Shit. Is he really going to allow himself this?

Novak's looking at him with confusion and uncertainty in his eyes, the way he used to all those years ago when his English was even worse. Sometimes Roger would make up words just to watch him get embarrassed, then someone would tell Novak that it's not a real word, and the more often it happened, the more he would lose his temper, spitting angry Serbian at Roger. " _You know everyone can tell you're cursing"_ , he would tell him, _"and it only sounds_ more _vulgar in that language of yours."_

Roger is holding his chin, and he's just letting him. Watching him. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asks, but he doesn't need an answer. He turns his hand so that he can rest two fingers against his lips. "To be good for me?"

Oh, yes. That is exactly what the boy wants and how did Roger not see this before? It was hidden behind his anger, this willingness to submit to Roger. He smiles, a real smile, because he can't quite believe his luck. The power he's feeling right now makes his heart rate jump. Novak is still just looking at him with those eyes, holding perfectly still, the opposite of what he's like on the court. Not chasing an undeserved win here.

Roger bends his fingers and presses lightly between his lips, watching as Novak parts his lips reluctantly. Roger smiles, and presses deeper until he can reach Novak's tongue and push down against it. The younger man looks slightly alarmed now as he struggles to swallow, tongue pushing against Roger's fingers. Roger just waits, taking in the view, until Novak realizes there's really nothing he can do other than push Federer away. And he's not going to do that. Novak goes still, but he drops his eyes from Roger, too embarrassed by his acceptance of this.

Roger goes to pull his fingers out, just to slide them back in again. Then he does it again, and he can tell he's pushing Novak to his limits. The man is so prideful, his ego and his sense of masculinity so annoyingly fragile, he can hardly believe he's letting Roger do this. But he can't make himself back off. It's too good.

On the third time he pulls his fingers out, he adds a third one on the way in, stretching the Serb's mouth further. With the corner of his eye, he can see the younger player's hand moving up to stop him, probably before Novak is even aware of it himself - _just like on the court_ , Roger thinks - and he quickly bends down further and moves his free hand to rest inches from Novak's cock.

A choked sound escapes Novak's mouth that makes saliva spill over and drip out of his mouth and down his chin. Roger makes an annoyed sound, pressing Novak's head up with his fingers. He eyes the streak of saliva on the man's chin with a mildly disgusted look on his face. "You really are such an animal, look at you. How did they ever let you onto a tennis court?"

Novak can't answer him, of course, and he's starting to look very uncomfortable with his mouth stretched open and fingers controlling the movement of his tongue. "Although I must say, the silence is a welcome change." Again, he pulls his fingers out to push them back in. "This must take a lot of willpower." He moves his fingers again. "Just sitting there and letting the man you just beat in front of so many of people fuck your mouth with his fingers." He does it again and Novak squeezes his eyes shut.

"Look at me."

He does, and Roger's now so hard he can barely control himself. But so is Novak. He moves his hand so that his palm rests over the Serb's cock. "Good boy."

Novak's eyes go wild as he chokes around the fingers, and Roger presses his palm harder. There's tears pooling up in the younger man's eyes and Roger wants to kiss him right then. To pull his fingers out and kiss that dirty, foul mouth. But that's not what this is. That, Roger is sure, is one limit he can't cross.

The man's knuckles are turning white as he holds onto the bench he's sitting on, struggling to remain still and _good_. God, if Roger had known he could do this sooner... He starts to move his hand over Novak's cock, stroking him through the fabric.

"Look at you, just letting me do this..." he says, his voice deep. "Are you really going to cum all over yourself in a Wimbledon locker room? Just from Roger Federer's fingers in your mouth?"

He pulls his fingers out then, completely, but Novak has little chance to feel relief as he grabs at his hair instead, keeping his head up, looking at Roger who then slips his hand, finally, inside to grab at Novak's cock. That results in a loud, deep moan, and Roger savors it.

"Tell me you'll be good for me," he says, and Novak does, _whines_ it, his accent heavy. "Then cum for me, champion."


End file.
